


you and i got options, babe (but—)

by strawb3rryshake



Series: (wednesday night interlude) [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Feelings Realization, M/M, because of course it is, it's about The Coast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:33:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26508280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawb3rryshake/pseuds/strawb3rryshake
Summary: “It hits him out of nowhere. They’ve watched each other grow up, in a way. Fourteen years, a teenage daughter, an ex-wife, a stadium tour. How many Wednesday nights to Thursday mornings spent just like this? Jaskier won’t count them; it doesn’t matter.”—remember what Kylie said about realizing? well.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: (wednesday night interlude) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1908286
Comments: 12
Kudos: 100





	you and i got options, babe (but—)

**Author's Note:**

> If you’ve seen this before, no you haven’t <3 (bc I wrote it last week lol. parts one and two help but aren’t required.)

“I’m taking a break,” he says. 

They’re at his apartment because it was closest to the venue. Stumbled their way upstairs in the dark, took separate showers back to back, ran out to the balcony to catch the sunrise and are just this side of too early.

“From…?” Geralt bites, eventually. Jaskier smiles at him, shark-like.

“Everything. Club circuit, producing, writing—all of it. I’m taking a _vacation_.”

Geralt’s frown deepens. Which is fine, he expected as much. It’s been fourteen years since he’d started this whole music thing and he distinctly remembers his nineteen-year-old self screaming into Geralt’s ear that he was “never going to fucking stop, not if it kills me. In fact, I want it to kill me! I want to die doing this, die right here on this stage in front of you!”

To which Geralt had said: no. “It’s my job,” he’d reminded him, “to make sure you do the opposite of that.”

Spoilsport.

It hits him out of nowhere. They’ve watched each other grow up, in a way. Fourteen years, a teenage daughter, an ex-wife, a stadium tour. How many Wednesday nights turned to Thursday mornings spent just like this? Jaskier won’t count them; it doesn’t matter.

“Ask me where I’m taking my vacation, Geralt.”

It’ll be a hot summer, as Redanian ones go. It was hotter than hell at the show. Jaskier remembers a rivulet of sweat that ran down his spine like the lightest touch of a finger and Geralt, behind him, arms crossed tightly across his chest. Rolling his eyes.

“Where are you taking your vacation, Jaskier?”

He giggles. He can’t help himself. “Why, Geralt, I’m so glad you asked!”

Which is true. He’s been holding onto this news as tightly as he’s gripping the balcony railing now, waiting for a fertile moment just like this one. Something akin to euphoria is working its way under his skin. “I’m going to Verden. Got a little beach house in Nastrog for a couple months.”

He’d booked it six months ago, planned on forgetting about it until the week of, and had been thinking about it and all its possibilities every day since. It feels good to finally mention it, better to ignore whatever look he knows Geralt is giving him.

“How…many months is a couple?”

“Two,” he lies.

Geralt sucks his teeth at him, is probably shaking his head.

“Three. _Okay_ , four,” Jaskier admits a bit petulantly, “and don’t—you know I’m not staying there for four months. But I could.”

Could do a lot of things, he thinks. Here in the dark with the city laid around them like a blanket. He turns to look at Geralt and— _guessed it_ —he’s shaking his head; his mouth twitching, his fingers, twitching. Both would be satisfied with a cigarette but he keeps saying he’s quitting. Recants after a week, has done so three times already.

“So. Just gonna…sit on the beach, or.”

Jaskier scoffs. “Oh, like that’s so awful.”

He takes a breath, rolls up on the balls of his feet. Used to do it all the time when he was young, hung up on being just shy of a meter eighty-five. “Gonna try and figure some shit out, actually. See if I can work out what pleases me.”

Next to him, Geralt shuffles closer. He’s wearing Jaskier’s clothes: sweatpants that’re too tight and a shirt that fits better than it should. Picked them out himself while Jaskier was in the shower, put them on like it was nothing. Seeing him in them is…something. The no man’s land between a promise and a threat.

“I mean—,” he puffs out a breath, “you’re gonna get bored.”

Jaskier blinks. It wasn’t supposed to be this easy.

“Come with me then,” he offers, looking down at their bare feet on the concrete, at the edge of a rug which would’ve cost his nineteen-year-old self a night’s worth of earnings, “if you’re so worried about me going out of my mind. It’s not like you’ve got much else going on.”

Around them, the city is slowly pulling itself out of bed. Somewhere in the distance is the sound of a car stuttering into being. The door to the apartment complex, so many stories below them, swings open; there’s a jingling of keys, the patter of feet.

“Yennefer—”

 _Likes me better than you, sometimes_ , Jaskier wants to say. Wants to say: she is not the excuse you think she is. Remembers she had sent him a string of text messages he’d forgotten to answer before the show and winces. “Hm. Of course. Yennefer.”

He’ll ask her to come instead. They’ll get day drunk on the beach and complain about this stupid, stupid man, this constellation in the sky of their lives. But only for the first week.

“Jas.” It’s a warning when he says it like this. Jaskier hums at him. Geralt, again, inches closer, frowning like he’s trying to read Jaskier’s mind. Or thinks he can, if he could just get close enough.

"Yennefer,” he starts again and Jaskier throws his head back, looks up into a grey and formless sky, “is taking Ciri for the summer. Some ‘gifted kids’ thing in Temeria. So, if you have room on your floor, I’m in.”

Well then.

Before he can stop himself, he looks. Makes eye contact and is surprised when Geralt keeps it. He’s tilting his head like he does when he wants to play nice: eyes soft, brows loose. Expectant.

“Was hoping you’d sleep in my bed, actually,” Jaskier says.

It hangs in the air for a minute. Sinks to the ground and settles at their feet. Geralt looks down at it, hair falling over his brow in a wet wave. Looks back up at Jaskier and grins: toothy, a little crooked. _He’s getting it_ , Jaskier thinks dumbly, _he’s finally fucking getting it._

“That what pleases you?”

Geralt’s mouth is so bright and it’s feral, it’s luminous, it’s just this side of triumphant. Jaskier wants to climb inside, behind his teeth, and live there forever.

“Yeah. Yeah it is.”

The sun rises on Geralt’s face, in the electric yellow of his eyes, and in his body as he unfurls into Jaskier’s side, half of him lit up in blue and lavender as the first fingers of daylight flood over the horizon. “Alright then.”

And they’re kissing. Easy as that. Geralt’s lips are soft and he tastes of breath mints, last night’s secret cigarette. His palm against Jaskier’s cheek is as warm as the morning. 

“You _fucker_ ,” Jaskier gasps into the hollow of his throat, “Just like that, eh?” And Geralt laughs and kisses him again.

**Author's Note:**

> "IM HERE. IM HERE AND I LOVE YOU. IN THIS SPACE AND TIME AND WHEREVER AND WHENEVER YOU ARE. THERE IS A SPACE BETWEEN THOSE SPACES THAT CONNECTS US AND ITS FULL OF LOVE. I’LL MEET YOU THERE." 
> 
> \- tumblr user @stuffedgrapeleaves 
> 
> ((and they lived happily ever after! (probably). thank you all for coming on this ride with me. thank you, thank you, thank you (as always) for reading. big love xx))


End file.
